


Working Late

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, M/M, Office Sex, Paris Era, Paris Police Prefecture, Rivette figures out how to get his boss to relax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: For a moment, Rivette entertained the ridiculous notion of inviting his Chief along for a bottle of wine. His lips twitched slightly. He knew exactly what Javert’s response would be. No, he wasn’t going to get his superior out of this office, especially not with an invitation like that. He should just go home. It was late and he was tired, and there’d be more work waiting for him tomorrow.





	Working Late

It was late.

That in itself was nothing new. Ever since Javert had taken over as Chief Inspector, things at the Prefecture had changed. Javert had made it clear from the very start that he expected impeccable service, hard work, and long hours.

Not that Rivette minded. It was a refreshing change to the way things had been. No one could deny that things ran more smoothly now, with Gisquet promoted to Prefect of Police, safely away from the day-to-day tasks of actual police work. There was no more lounging around in Javert’s office. Javert had a task or two for every idle hand, and woe to the man who failed to have his reports ready on his desk before Javert arrived in the morning.

Still, different wasn’t bad. And once one understood what drove Javert, it was easy to get along with him. Or rather, it was easy as long as one did what was expected. Praise from Javert was rare, but he appreciated men he could rely upon.

Rivette prided himself on being such a man. And he couldn’t deny that things were more interesting now that Javert had taken over. More arrests. More raids. Less corruption.

Even a medal for their boss, although Javert had failed to be as pleased by that as Rivette thought he should be.

“You’re still here.” Javert’s voice broke the silence of the deserted office. He looked vaguely surprised, as though he hadn’t even realized that Rivette had worked quietly alongside him after everyone else had left.

“I thought I’d go through these old reports. Almost done cleaning up that cabinet no one ever looked at.”

“Hmm.” Javert made a non-committal sound, then bent back over his own work.

For a moment, Rivette allowed himself to wonder what he was working on. Behind Javert, there was still the poster of the fugitive Jean Valjean stuck to the wall. Certainly not...?

Rivette forced himself to return to his own work. The Chief Inspector didn’t like being questioned. Especially not when it came to that particular escaped convict.

In any case, Rivette had other problems to consider. Like the mess Gisquet had left behind in the cabinet. Having all those files dealt with would be a relief, and he knew that Javert would appreciate it, even if he might never say so.

It took another hour until Rivette had finally filed the last batch of old papers away. He stretched, his fingers cramped from holding a pen for so long. How late was it now?

Somewhere outside, a church bell rang ten. Late indeed. Surely by now, he and Javert had to be the only men still left in the Prefecture.

Rivette rose, then placed a last report in its accustomed place on Javert’s desk. Javert didn’t even look up from the file he was going through.

Should he leave without saying goodbye?

For a moment, Rivette entertained the ridiculous notion of inviting his Chief along for a bottle of wine. His lips twitched slightly. He knew exactly what Javert’s response would be. No, he wasn’t going to get his superior out of this office, especially not with an invitation like that. He should just go home. It was late and he was tired, and there’d be more work waiting for him tomorrow.

“You’re still here.” This time, Javert didn’t sound surprised. He looked vaguely thoughtful.

Rivette watched as Javert frowned, then closed his case. Javert pushed his chair back, then stretched.

He looked exhausted, Rivette thought. Even now, every fold of his cravat was impeccable, as if he’d only just arrived at the Prefecture instead of putting in a gruesome fifteen hours. Still, for someone who knew him as well as Rivette, his exhaustion was visible in the way he briefly closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing, a nearly inaudible sigh escaping his lips.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Rivette caught himself imagining running his hands over those broad shoulders, which would be tense from sitting at the desk for so long.

Javert tilted his head back, studying him silently. Just for a moment, Rivette allowed himself to imagine taking Javert to a tavern, sharing a bottle of wine, gently tracing his fingers along his beard later, in the dark corridor of the quiet tenement where he lived...

“No,” Javert said at last.

It was exactly what Rivette had expected. Even so, there was a small flash of disappointment.

Rivette inclined his head. For some reason Javert was still staring at him, and all of a sudden, Rivette felt out of his depth. He knew that he should just turn around and leave—but he couldn’t make himself move, not with Javert’s eyes on him, dark and unreadable.

What was Javert thinking? Had his mind already returned to whatever case he was working on? Was he once more remembering the one escaped convict he’d never been able to arrest? Or worse—had he caught a glimpse of Rivette’s desires in his expression?

Rivette swallowed, his mouth dry.

Javert smiled slowly. “Yes,” he then said. “You could.”

Javert pushed himself further away from his desk. He nodded towards the floor in front of him. “Come here.”

When Rivette walked around the desk, his heart pounding in his chest, he saw that Javert’s legs had spread.

Was there something stirring beneath the dark wool of Javert’s trousers, or was he just imagining that? Rivette licked his lips, considering. Then he went to his knees.

Javert’s expression did not change. The color of his skin hid any flush of passion, and even sprawled in his chair, Javert looked as he always did: perfectly composed and in control, here at the center of his power.

Still. His eyes were on Rivette now, and they were resting on him with a focus Rivette had not experienced since the day Javert had first taken over the Chief’s position and asked him for a private interview, during which he’d made his expectations of hard, dedicated work clear.

In the years since, Rivette liked to believe that he had delivered the hard work and devotion Javert demanded. Even so, never since then had Javert’s eyes rested on him like this—seeing Rivette without distraction, studying him without mulling over three different cases in his mind at the same time.

Rivette hesitated for another second. Then he reached out for the fall of Javert’s trousers.

Javert exhaled softly, pleased, and Rivette felt something inside uncoil. He hadn’t assumed wrong then.

Javert was already half hard when he freed him, and of a good size. He hardened further when Rivette sucked him into his mouth. Rivette was rewarded for his efforts by a pleased sound, and a moment later, there was a hand in his hair.

Rivette worked late most days, without complaint or regret. He didn’t often have time to seek out diversion and cheap company in taverns. When he did, women were easier to come by and less trouble, and most of the time, the encounters left him satisfied and with no craving for further company in his life. Which did not mean that he was on his knees for the first time, but encounters like this were rare—mostly because the sort of man who made him want to go to his knees, or ask to share a bottle of wine with, was rare as well.

Javert was unlike any man he’d ever known. Rivette remembered the day Javert had first burst into the Prefecture, only to be reprimanded by the Chief Inspector in front of them all. When he’d left, they’d laughed. Who did that newcomer think he was? New to his position, stationed out in the provinces, a former bagne guard, perhaps the son of some Haitian slave or foreign sailor, he’d burst into the company of their office as if he belonged there. He’d learned his lesson, Rivette had thought after Javert had left humiliated. They’d all worked hard to get to where they were, after all. Surely someone like Javert wouldn’t make it into the Prefecture’s offices unless he put in at least twenty years of good work.

Of course, Rivette had been wrong. They’d all realized they’d been wrong when Javert returned a mere two years later to work directly beneath the Chief. And now, ten years later, it was Javert who sat in the former Chief’s chair.

Perhaps that was why it was Javert who held this position, and not Rivette. Javert had never once misjudged a person, for as long as Rivette had known him.

Nevertheless, Rivette liked to think that since that day, he’d made no secret of his admiration of Javert’s determination and the strict hand with which he ran the office. There was much to admire in Chief Inspector Javert—and not the least of it was the way his perfectly groomed beard framed his face, the rigid line of his shoulders beneath his coat, his imposing bearing, and the way he effortlessly took control of any room he entered.

Or the way his prick felt on Rivette’s tongue, having grown to its full size now and pleasantly filling his mouth to such a way that it made his jaw ache.

Rivette redoubled his efforts, sliding down until his nose brushed the curls at the base of the shaft. He could smell Javert’s desire, the earthy, musky scent of it filling his senses. Javert’s fingers twitched against his scalp, and when Rivette pulled back only to slide back down to the root again, a soft groan escaped Javert.

This was probably the closest he had ever seen Javert come to losing control. Something about the thought that it was him pleasing Javert, making him come undone right here in the office Javert so indisputably ruled with a strict hand, made heat rush through Rivette’s own body. He moaned as he pulled back again, letting Javert’s thick shaft slip from his mouth so that he could leisurely lick around the exposed glans, gleaming wetly with his own spit. He could taste Javert already as beads of fluid welled up, pressing his tongue eagerly to the small slit to encourage more—and then Javert’s fingers tightened in his hair and pushed him down, and Rivette groaned as he readily took all of him once more.

Javert held him in place as his hips jerked forward once, twice—and then the bitter rush of his spend filled Rivette’s mouth, who would have swallowed it all dutifully even if Javert’s hand hadn’t remained on his head.

Only when Javert had finished did that hand relax. For a moment, it slid downward to rest at Rivette’s nape, Javert’s fingers warm where they brushed against the skin exposed above his cravat. Javert was softening in his mouth, and despite the throbbing of his own arousal, Rivette was happy to remain on his knees, Javert’s prick still stretching his mouth, warm and solid on his tongue.

Then Javert sighed, content, and Rivette reluctantly straightened. His jaw ached a little, as did his knees, but he disregarded it. He licked his lips as he slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, using it to clean the Chief Inspector’s cock before he reverently put it away again, buttoning the fall of Javert’s trousers with great care.

When he finally leaned back, he found that Javert’s eyes were still closed. As Rivette watched, Javert’s tongue came out to moisten his bottom lip, and he found himself imagining once more what it might be like to stand in the dark corridor of his house, Javert’s hands in his hair to hold him still as that tongue slipped in between his own lips, the rasp of Javert’s beard against his cheek...

Rivette swallowed, his own neglected prick jerking against the tight confines of his trousers.

Javert’s eyes were open now, he noticed a moment later. There was none of the usual, sharp determination in them—instead, they were soft, almost amused.

“It’s late,” Javert said. “You should go home.”

Rivette thought again about inviting Javert to share a bottle of wine with him, or a late meal in the nearby cook-shop that was mostly frequented by police spies. He thought about those strong, resolute hands on his shoulders. About sliding a hand down Javert’s back, feeling his skin damp with sweat as he arched above him.

Then Rivette exhaled a silent sigh and inclined his head as he rose. “As you say.”

He was nearly at the door when Javert’s voice stopped him.

“And Rivette. You’ve been doing good work this year. Don’t think I don’t see it.”

Embarrassed, Rivette realized that his cheeks were heating—when they hadn’t heated even when he’d sunk to his knees.

“Thank you, Chief.” He hesitated for a moment, but then realized that there was nothing else he could say that wouldn’t be presumptuous. “Good night.”

At least now he knew that an offer of a temporary break wouldn’t be unwelcome, if he were to work late again next week. There was always work to be done, after all. Perhaps next week, he would investigate the old boxes someone had shoved into a corner in the corridor…


End file.
